The Marriage Activists: Dave Ermold and David Moore

This story is about civil liberties. It's about the dissonance between personal freedom and a political system's inherent discrimination. It's about religion and the Supreme Court and even the Pope.

But when you get right down to it, it's about something much simpler: love.

David Ermold, 42, and David Moore, 39, of Morehead, Kentucky—"the Daves", as I call them—were the first gay couple to stand up to Kim Davis. You remember her: The Rowan County clerk who refused to issue them marriage licenses, even after the Supreme Court ruled that it's the legal right of all United States citizens to marry regardless of their sexual orientation. And the Daves didn't do it to start a revolution. "We're quiet people who mind their own business," Ermold explains. "We've been together for seventeen years," says Moore. "We had always said we'd get married when we had the right to do so. So when we found out Davis wasn't marrying gay couples, we decided to go in and document our own attempt."

Timothy D. Easley/AP

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This was before anyone outside of Morehead had heard of Davis and her transparently prejudiced refusal to do the job for which she was appointed. The video, taken on July 6 by a friend of the Daves, shows Ermold and Moore walking into a nearly empty courthouse. In the weeks to come, that space would be overflowing with cameras and reporters and protesters and counter-protesters. But at that moment, it was just the Daves, who brought with them a copy of the June 26 Supreme Court decision and the letter from Kentucky's then-Governor Steve Beshear ordering all county clerks to issue marriage licenses to all couples. They ask repeatedly to speak to Davis, who remains in her office until the very end. She speaks with Moore, but refuses to do so while the camera is rolling. That's when the footage cuts to black.

The Daves didn't do it to start a revolution."We've been together for seventeen years," says Moore. "We had always said we'd get married when we had the right to do so. So when we found out Davis wasn't marrying gay couples, we decided to go in and document our own attempt."

Two days later Moore uploaded it to YouTube and posted it to a Facebook group set up by local citizens concerned about Davis's actions. "We just wanted to share it with the community, and our friends and family, because we were all pissed off," Moore says. Someone—the Daves still aren't sure who—posted it to the popular messaging board Reddit. By the next morning, the video had gone viral. "I don't think people understand what it's like to be discriminated against," Moore says. "I think they got a pretty good picture of it in that video."

Courtesy Dave Ermold and David Moore

The national attention was immediate, and overwhelming. The Daves retreated from the spotlight. Davis, meanwhile, fortified her resolve, strengthened by support from religious leaders and conservative pundits and politicians from around the country. She refused to marry any couples, gay or straight. Weeks and months went by, and the Daves became increasingly frustrated. "It exposed not just the bigotry of Kim Davis and her office, but the bigotry across the whole state," Ermold says. "I might say it exposed a bigotry across the entire country."

The Daves attempted to get their marriage license four times over the next eight weeks. In the meantime, on August 12, U.S. District Judge David L. Bunning ordered Davis to issue licenses to all couples, of any orientation. She appealed the decision to the Sixth Circuit, and that court, on August 26, denied her request. She failed again at the Supreme Court, when on August 31, America's highest court refused to issue a stay on Bunning's order. If Davis denied another licenses, she would be in contempt of court. The landing was finally clear; the Daves could ease into their official, state-recognized union.

Not so fast. On September 1, Davis denied the Daves one more time, and was arrested for it. "When I saw that, I just started crying," says Ermold. "You don't want someone going to jail because of your civil rights." Three days later, the Daves—along with four other couples—returned and got their licenses without incident.

Despite the finality of the judicial system's actions, the issue is still somehow not fully over. Davis was back in the headlines in October when she managed to get face time with Pope Francis in Washington D.C. on his first visit to the United States. (The Vatican says the meeting was little more than a handshake.) Then Kentucky Republican Matt Bevin used a recording of Kim Davis to robocall voters during the gubernatorial race, won the election, and assumed office on December 8. He has already proposed that county clerks' names be removed from marriage licenses— all the harder to put a face to the injustice. Bevin passed out cards during his campaign describing him as "the only candidate for governor who has stood up for traditional marriage and religious liberty." Gay rights activists—including the Daves—are watching his actions closely, concerned that he and other politicians won't let the issue go. "We're finished with making accommodations for others," Ermold says. "Why should we lower ourselves or hide ourselves or be considerate of you just to exist?"

But for now, Ermold and Moore are basking in the glow of their special day. The marriage finally took place on September 26, underneath the bell tower on Morehead State University's campus, the word "LOVE" carved into the stone at the top, followed by a public ceremony on October 31 at the same location. "I thought I'd be worrying about Kim Davis and all that," Ermold says. "But all of those concerns melted away and it was just us. I was really, really, really happy." Moore concurs: "It feels like things are more complete. Now I'm now a full human being."

Illustrations by Christopher Wright

* This article is part of The Code, an editorial partnership between Esquire and Ford F-150.